The Delayed Game
by from-under-the-stingue-tree
Summary: On their way home from a job working at a summer camp, Sting and Rogue have a flight connection through the Atlanta airport. However, when they arrive, their connecting flight home is delayed... by six hours. Sting has an idea to pass the time. Modern/College-Age AU. Stingue One-Shot.


**The Delayed Game**

 _Stingue_

* * *

Rogue's plane touched down in Atlanta twenty minutes early.

The day was going pretty well for the nineteen-year-old boy. The plane from St. Louis to Atlanta went by without a problem. In less than nine hours, he would be back at home in his own bed.

Rogue had had enough of the cots at camp. He and his best friend, Sting, had been counsellors at a residential summer camp. It was actually a pretty cool camp for middle school and high school students – the camp prided itself in being the only summer camp in the world with its own zoo. During the time campers spent there, they could "adopt" an animal, which they were allowed to help care for. For the most part, the job was enjoyable for Rogue. Really, the kids were fine. Sure, some of them were downright brats, but, for the most part, he and Sting had gotten the older kids – like fourteen- and fifteen-year-olds. It was a pretty easy job, too. They had to make sure all the kids were up and at breakfast in time, had to make sure all of the campers were alive at any given time throughout the day, had to patch up any minor injuries that kids might have gotten that day, and they had to ensure all of the campers had lights out before eleven o'clock.

Rogue shifted his head slightly to get comfortable, which proved difficult due to the ponytail that Rogue had tied his thick black hair into. He couldn't move much; he didn't want to wake up Sting, who was dozing on his right shoulder. He ended up feeling the most comfortable with his head resting on top of Sting's own head. His blood-red eyes fluttered shut as he caught a few extra minutes of sleep before landing in Atlanta.

" _Ladies and gentlemen, as we start our descent into Atlanta, please make sure your seat backs and tray tables are in the full upright and locked position. Make sure your seatbelt is securely fastened and all carryon luggage is properly stowed under the seat in front of you or in an overhead compartment. Thank you,"_ the flight attendant's cheerful voice announced not long after Rogue had fallen asleep.

Rogue gazed at his best friend, considered waking him up, and decided against it for another few minutes. After putting up his tray table and checking that both his and Sting's seats were in the 'upright position,' Rogue turned his head to the right, peering over his slumbering friend's form to see the night sky beyond the window of the airplane.

Flying at night was one of the things that Rogue truly enjoyed in life. As he was growing up, his family travelled almost constantly, going all across the world on vacations whenever Rogue had some time off school. That was one of the few things about living at home he missed. Now that he had moved out to share an apartment with Sting, his family didn't bring him on their adventures around the world.

They soon broke through the clouds, and the illuminated city below revealed itself. The thousands of tiny lights formed shapes and grids across the landscape. A large cluster of bright lights formed the inner city. Rogue noticed some collections of lights in the winding roads of neighbourhoods and the lamps in the front yards of the houses. A long, mostly straight bright stretch dotted with lots of normal yellowish light and a fair bit of red made up the highway.

He sighed, shifting his gaze yet again to the boy sleeping on his arm. _He's too goddamn cute sleeping like that._ Yeah. Rogue sort of had the biggest crush on his best friend. Of course, Sting didn't know that. Well, Rogue hoped that he didn't – there had been a little slipup a few years ago, but he hoped that his friend would have forgotten about that by now.

But Sting was seriously attractive when he slept. His spiky blond hair was dishevelled in such a way that Rogue found to be irresistible. His face was relaxed, and it left Sting with the slightest bit of a natural smile. Sting was such a joyful person that his natural relaxed face was still smiling. His mouth was a tiny bit open, and his breathing was in small, quiet puffs.

Rogue sat up straighter and braced his hands on the arm rests when he noticed they were getting close to the ground. No matter how much he had travelled as a child, Rogue still hated landings.

As the plane roughly touched down on the runway, Rogue shrugged his shoulder to wake up his blond best friend. "Get up, Sting."

Knitting his eyebrows together in sleepy confusion, Sting mumbled something along the lines of "but why I just wanna sleep come on zzzz" before passing back out on his friend's arm. It was adorable.

Rogue really didn't mind that Sting was napping on his arm. He looked peaceful… and downright gorgeous. Pushing his personal feelings aside, he set up his façade for now. "Nope," Rogue snapped coldly, taking both arms to force Sting to sit upright. "We're in Atlanta. We'll be at the gate soon." _Well, soon enough._ Rogue had been to the Atlanta airport so many times he knew that, because of how far they had landed from the concourses, it could very well take fifteen minutes for them to reach the gate. Still, Atlanta wasn't half as bad as LaGuardia in New York. Compared to some airports, Atlanta was downright efficient.

"Weeymuhhlaatrrr," the blond boy murmured, collapsing once again on Rogue's arm. It translated roughly to, "Wake me up later."

Sighing in defeat, the dark-haired male smoothed back his hair to ensure it hadn't become messy while he was napping. He tugged on the ends of his ponytail, pulling them outward slightly to tighten the elastic. He then ran a finger over the bottom edge of his black bangs than covered most of the right side of Rogue's face. Satisfied that he didn't look like complete shit, he carefully tugged his phone out of his pocket, trying not to disturb the princess dozing on his right arm.

After turning off airplane mode, he shot a quick text to both his parents and Sting's parents, knowing that there was no way that his best friend would remember. Even though both boys had moved out more than a year ago, both had neurotic parents that _wouldn't fucking leave them alone._

Much quicker than Rogue anticipated, the jet arrived at the gate. Sting shot upright, hearing the people around him moving to gather their belongings from the overhead compartment. He quickly unbuckled his seatbelt and, without thinking, stood up. Then, after hitting his head on the ceiling above him, Sting swore and sunk back into his seat.

"Calm down," Rogue reminded him. "We're in the back of the plane. We'll be waiting for a few minutes."

Sting twitched, anxious to get out of his seat.

Rogue sighed in exasperation. "Sting! You've been sleeping for two hours. You can wait another five minutes."

The blond shrugged, eagerly looking around the cabin as people began moving off of the aircraft. If Rogue was being honest, his best friend looked like a child seeing an airplane for the first time. If he was being "the guys in high school would have beat me up" honest, Rogue thought it was the cutest thing ever.

As soon as there was enough room for Rogue to barely squeeze into the aisle, Sting pushed him out of his seat and into the miniscule space. The black-haired human muttered a few apologies to the people around them as Sting pulled down their two backpacks – Sting's was blue and grey, Rogue's was black and red – from the overhead compartment. They made their way down the aisle, thanking the flight attendants as they exited the plane and made their way onto the little floaty tunnel thing that connected the concourse to the plane.

"Okay, so when is our next flight?" Sting questioned, stepping into the terminal.

"The flight for Baltimore should be leaving at twelve-oh-five. It's like nine-fifteen now. We should have about three hours to get food and stuff," Rogue explained, searching the area for the status monitors. _There._ Rogue turned onto the busy walkway of Concourse C, Sting at his heels. They began walking away from gate C55, which was at the farthest end of the concourse.

The Atlanta airport was set up simply; there were several concourses that ran in parallel straight lines, connected by an underground Plane Train and walkways. The Plane Train ran under the midpoint of each concourse.

Checking to make sure he wouldn't be in anyone's way, the more mature of the two stopped in front of the collection of television screens that were mounted portrait-style, displaying the status of every flight leaving and arriving at the airport. Rogue spent a moment to scan the screens, searching for "Baltimore" on one of the departure monitors. He found it, but his heart sank in defeat as he read across the line.

"It's delayed," Rogue deadpanned.

"Eh?"

"The plane back into Baltimore is delayed for like three hours." Rogue hung his head, rubbed his eyes, and looked at the screen again to ensure he had read it correctly.

He read across the column headers, following them down to the row which showed the flight that the pair needed to take home. Under the "Status" column, the display read "Now 3:15a."

"Fuck," Rogue swore under his breath, looking away from the monitors and towards his beat-up, falling apart black Converse. He had really been looking forward to getting back home, too. "Well, we've got time to kill. What do you want to do?"

 _Six hours in an airport._

The energetic teen considered the question, completely oblivious to Rogue's sour mood at the fact that they now had _six fucking hours_ in an airport. "Well, I'm hungry. What food do they have here?"

Rogue was glad that his parents took him on vacation so often that he remembered almost every concourse very clearly. "Well, we're in Concourse C now, which has pretty much shit for food. Chick-fil-A or Five Guys, maybe, but with six hours to kill," he grimaced, "I'd much rather have actual food."

Sting leaned forward, expecting further elaboration.

"Um, in Concourse B, there's a T.G.I. Friday's that's sit-down. I think there's a food court in Concourse E. There are a few pubs – like burgers and fries sort of food. What kind of food are you looking for?"

"Let's get a snack now," Sting suggested. "I could go for an order of fries or something for now."

Rogue shrugged, thinking that sounded alright, and continued heading towards the centre of the concourse. The Five Guys Burgers and Fries was just ahead; it was about a hundred paces away from the gate from which they had arrived.

They stood in the line that was outrageously long and purchased a "regular" sized order of fries, which was actually about three times the size of a medium fry anywhere else. It was more than enough food to quench their hunger for a little while.

Seeing as they had plenty of time, they decided to relax and eat their bag of French fries in the seating area of the nearest gate. The closest gate was C38, and, luckily for them, its next flight was not for another several hours, so the seating area was empty, save for an old lady and a severely obese middle-aged man.

"So," Rogue started, sitting down in a chair.

"So," Sting echoed with a slight smile on his face.

"What are we going to do now?"

Sting pondered for a second before jumping in the air and staring Rogue down, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I know!" He paused, looked at the fries that had fallen off of his lap, and continued, "I think that we should play a game."

Rogue yawned due to his lack of sleep – the kids last week were downright satanic. Then, he gestured to Sting, like "get on with it."

"Okay, so this is a pretty big airport, right? Like, unless if we were trying to find each other, it wouldn't be too likely we'd run into one another by chance?"

The frequent traveller thought on that. "If you're just going throughout the terminals, there's a chance you could run into someone you know, but, no, generally, you wouldn't run into someone by chance. What's your point?"

"We've got, say, four hours to do this. That leaves two extra hours. I want to play mega hide-and-seek," he beamed. "So you're going to give me ten minutes – on the dot – to go. I'm going to go somewhere in one of the concourses. I'm going to keep moving, and you have to catch up. After a little while, I'll send you a little hint text. I'm going to leave hints for you across the airport. You just need to follow the hints around and find me. When you find me, we'll have some food, we'll switch, and it's your turn. Make sense?" Rogue's best friend's eyes shined devilishly.

There was a fair bit of grey area to Rogue, but he decided to go with it. "So, you're not going to give me any hints?"

"Not until I text you. You can't reply, though."

"How on earth am I supposed to find you in this huge airport?"

"You're the one who travels a lot, right? You've got the upper hand, my friend."

"Fine. What do you mean that you could leave hints for me?"

Sting shrugged casually. "Well, like I could go up to Bobby Lynn at Restaurant B and tell her that if a hot guy with black hair in a ponytail wearing a grey hoodie comes by, she needs to tell you something. Like, it could just be 'Concourse D,' or it could simply be the name of a restaurant or anything. Or, alt-"

The normally-calm boy's cheeks were flushed. He blinked a few times in confusion. "Did you just call me hot?"

Sting rolled his eyes, trying to hide his own blush. "I did. Problem?" Without giving the embarrassed boy a chance to reply, he continued. "Or, alternatively, I could leave a hint on a candy shelf. I won't make it impossible – the places where I hide things will be in either plain sight or something that you know is something I'd like, like a pack of M&M's. They're my favourite candy, so if I was going to hide a hint with candy, it'd be with M&M's and not some weird, shitty candy that no one has ever heard of. I'll make it as clear as I can for where you need to go to follow me. You're following the trail of breadcrumbs I'm leaving for you. Does it make sense?"

"I guess, but this airport is huge. And there are multiple shops of the same name throughout the airport. Like, there's a McDonald's in Concourse A _and_ E. There's an Atlanta Daily News stand in almost all of the terminals."

"Umm," the blond hummed. "I'll add a letter at the end of the hint for which concourse it will be."

Rogue's mind was reeling with things that sounded iffy about this, but he decided to roll with it. "So are you going to be giving me specific places? Like will I find 'Starbucks, C' on the inside cover of your favourite book at the bookshop in Concourse B?"

Sting shrugged. "I could do that."

"Will you tell me where you're going before you leave?"

"You'll see," Sting said, pushing himself up off of the chair. He winked and took off towards the centre of the Concourse.

Rogue groaned, but he decided to go along with his friend's antics, so he set his timer for ten minutes and waited for it to go off.

* * *

About fifteen seconds before the timer was set to ring, Rogue received a text from his friend.

 **Simply Books. A. –Good luck**

At the end of the message was a blue heart emoji.

 _A heart?_ Rogue questioned, and then he considered what it could mean. His mind wandered, entertaining the idea that maybe it was Sting's way of— _No! Don't fucking get your hopes up. Just go along with it._

After tightening his ponytail, Rogue shouldered his backpack and headed toward the Plane Train. Once he reached the down escalator, he jogged down the moving staircase, mumbling "excuse me" and "sorry" to each person he passed. He stepped onto the ground and walked to the spot where the Plane Train towards Concourse A would be arriving any minute. Normally, he despised the Plane Train and would almost always take the moving walkways instead, but he needed to be fast to keep up with Sting.

On the television screen above Rogue's head was an illustration of the Plane Train's route. Below that, it declared that, by taking this line, one could reach Ground Transportation and the Domestic Baggage Claim. In the bottom right hand corner of the screen was a countdown until the next train pulled into the station. _0:20, 0:19, 0:18…_ A moment later, the countdown disappeared, only to be replaced by the words "Train Arriving." With a _whoosh,_ the subway pulled into the platform and came to a stop. The doors slid open, inviting Rogue to get on.

The black-haired teen gripped onto a pole for stability as the train continued on its route a few seconds later. _"Welcome aboard the Plane Train. Please hold on; this train is departing. The next stop is for B gates. B, as in Bravo,"_ a robotic voice announced. After a few seconds of moving, the same voice said, _"Please hold on; this train is stopping. Please collect your belongings and watch your step as you exit."_ The train braked and ceased movement when the doors opened at Concourse B.

Then, the process repeated. _"The next stop is for A gates. A, as in Alpha."_

About a minute later, Rogue stepped off of the Plane Train at his destination. He jogged up the escalator and spotted the bookshop Sting had been talking about right next to the moving staircase. For a moment, he allowed himself to be surprised at the size of the store; for an airport store, it was huge. Like most airport shops, it had an open front; it had no "front door."

 _If I were Sting, where would I put something?_

It didn't take long for Rogue to figure it out. His best friend had recently read a book that he proclaimed to be "the best book in the universe." That's what Sting and _literally the rest of the world_ except for Rogue thought about the novel. When the studious boy had read it, he thought the plot was slightly lacking and felt that the main character wasn't very relatable and was whiny. However, it was easy to find a copy in the bookshop.

Rogue picked up the book and cracked it open to the inside cover, expecting there to be something from Sting. _Nothing._ He flipped a few pages, went to the first chapter, the title page, and the first page of the epilogue, but he found nothing. _Come_ on, _Sting,_ he thought bitterly. Then, he considered what Sting would do and decided to check on the front of the book underneath the book jacket.

Sure enough, stuck to the front of the book under the jacket was a yellow sticky note with Sting's messy chicken scratch handwriting in blue.

 **CNBC News Atlanta. A.**

And at the end of the message was the damned heart again, though it was drawn in pen messily this time.

 _Stop it, you fucking dumbass. He doesn't like you like that, so stop torturing yourself. And even if he did, what would you do about it? You're not going to ask your best friend out. You saw how that worked out last time, so stop kidding yourself. He doesn't like you, so get the fuck over it._

Now feeling as if his heart was in his throat, Rogue shuffled across the midpoint of Concourse A; CNBC News Atlanta was on the opposite side from Simply Books. Although his heart really wasn't in this game that Sting had created now, he carefully considered where Sting would have left him a hint.

Figuring that it probably wouldn't be as easy as the previous one, he decided that, since he had forgotten to bring a pack anyways, he would pick up a pack of mint gum.

He approached the counter and grabbed a pack of chewing gum to hand to the clerk. The man behind the counter looked like he was probably in his mid-twenties, and he also seemed like he would rather do literally anything except for help Rogue. The dark-haired teen forced a small smile as the man handed him his receipt. Then, as Rogue was about to step away, the man grabbed onto his hood.

Feeling the pull at the back of his neck, Rogue whipped back around with raised eyebrows. "Can I help you?" he snapped without thinking.

"Rogue?"

Blinking and momentarily forgetting that they were playing a game, he panicked for a second, wondering _how the fuck does this asshole know my name?_ "Yes."

The man thrust a yellow sticky note towards Rogue. "Have a nice day."

"Thanks…" Rogue mumbled as he walked away from the shop. _This seems too easy,_ he thought as he exited the store and pulled to the side of the walkway.

 **You were always our best flute during Concert band… at least, when you had enough caffeine.**

 _That fucking heart. Stop it, you damned asshole. This is getting cruel now._

The teen allowed himself to chuckle at the accuracy of the statement. While the two had been in high school, Rogue and Sting had been in the band, playing flute and alto saxophone, respectively. Rogue had been first chair, but he was so heavily dependent on caffeine and coffee that, on days when he was running on three hours of sleep and no coffee, he could barely manage to play a Concert B-flat scale one octave.

He sighed, heading towards the escalator. The clue was obvious. Caffeine nodded towards a coffee shop, and the capitalised "C" in "Concert" implied Concourse C… which was where Rogue just came from. Knowing for a fact that there was a Starbucks in that terminal, he hopped back onto the waiting Plane Train without giving it a second thought.

 _I could use a coffee anyways._

Rogue realised as he jogged up to Concourse C a minute or two later that, in the time that he had been following Sting's breadcrumb trail, the airport traffic had heavily decreased. When the pair had first entered the airport, the number of people was probably almost twice what it was now, at 10:15. _Have we really been doing this for forty-five minutes? It doesn't feel like it should be that long. "Time flies when you're having fun?" I do suppose this is sort of fun…_

Rogue's mind wandered as he made his way back through Concourse C towards Starbucks. For some reason, a memory from the middle of tenth grade graced the dark-haired boy's mind.

It was nearly three in the morning, and Sting and Rogue were still laying on Rogue's bedroom floor, talking about anything. The best friends had been in the same position – with their heads next to each other but their legs going to opposite sides of the room so that their faces were directly under the ceiling fan – since seven o'clock in the evening. There was really nothing that the two didn't talk about – they'd considered everything from bitches at school (at the time, most of that conversation focused on Sting's cheerleader ex-girlfriend) to what they wanted to do after graduation (which was still two years away, thank _something_ because they would have been fucked if it was any sooner) to LGBT rights.

Most people would find it strange for two sixteen-year-old boys to casually discuss topics like LGBT rights, but for Sting and Rogue, it was a common topic of discussion. It was a pretty big controversial theme in the media anyways, but it was more personal for Rogue, due to the fact that he had come out as gay in the beginning of the ninth grade. Well, it wasn't necessarily "coming out," per se, but more of just a "hey Sting, I'm gay, what do you want to eat" kind of thing. Rogue really didn't feel the need for him to officially sit down with his parents and talk about his sexuality, because both of his parents were really accepting and he had a hella rad friend who was cool with just about anything. Seriously, if Rogue had said he had a sexual preference for potatoes, Sting probably would have said, "That's a bit strange, but it's pretty chill. Let's go find you the best fucking potato in the entire fucking world, 'kay?"

But that one night at three in the morning, after a good ten minutes of comfortable silence, Rogue had whispered, "Can I tell you something?"

"Sure."

Rogue trained his eyes on the fluorescent lights above the pair's head. "Thank you for everything. I… wouldn't have made it through this year without you."

A concerned look washed over Sting's handsome features. "Where is this coming from?"

"I felt it needed to be said. You brought me out of a really fucking bad place, and I don't think I've ever really told you how grateful I am. You didn't need to help me every time I break down at four in the morning, but _you do._ Thank you so much, Sting. I love you." Rogue's heart skipped several beats before pounding very quickly and very loudly as he realised what he had said. _Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK._

Silence fell over the two for only a few seconds before Sting said, "You're welcome. I'm never gonna drop you, Rogue. I _did_ need to help you every time you call me in the middle of the night, because I couldn't get through my life without you, either." Sting paused, as if he was considering whether or not to add anything more. "And, Rogue, it's cool. Stop freaking out because you slipped up. It's cool. Just because you accidentally said that doesn't mean I'm about to drop you. I would tell you if it wasn't okay with me, and it is, alright? Don't lie to me, either, because I know right now you're beating yourself up. You're thinking how everything with us is going to be awkward and weird, right? Nah, it's all good. We're good." The blond offered a kind gaze and a fist towards his friend.

Rogue blinked, amazed at how one-hundred percent accurate what Sting just said really was. The ebony-haired teen had been internally panicking, beating himself up for slipping up. That was precisely the thing that Rogue loved the most about his best friend – how well he knew Rogue and how he could say the right thing whenever Rogue needed it. He didn't say anything, but he knew for a fact that Sting could sense his gratitude. So he just weakly tapped the outstretched fist with his own and smiled softly.

"You know, I don't know what I'd do without you, either," Sting confessed a few minutes later.

Rogue blushed even darker than before. "Hm?"

"Like, you're my best friend. If you don't know that by now, now you know. I love how we can just do this – talk about anything freely. I don't have to hide anything from you, and you don't have to hide anything from me. You telling me that proves how much trust we have. I've had some friends in the past where, sure, we were friends, but if I ever told them something that personal or something as deep as my anxiety disorder, they'd freak out." Barely above a whisper, Sting added, "Maybe that's why I never had a friend that lasted more than a year before you."

"Sting…" Rogue said kindly, a sad smile lay over his features.

"Yeah," Sting replied softly, knowing that no further words were needed.

* * *

A small smile danced over Rogue's lips as he remembered that evening. At the time, it had seemed like the worst thing ever, the most embarrassing thing ever. It was like, "holy _fuck_ I just admitted I'm in love with my best friend now we're not going to be friends anymore like I'm gay and he's not so holy _fuck_ what the hell happens now I guess it's time to move again good job Rogue you fucked up again." But looking back on it now, he found a wave of nostalgia wash over him.

Rogue stepped up to the counter at Starbucks. The barista, a man who looked like he had probably just graduated from university and who probably was thinking "why did I bother getting a degree in something important if I'm just going to be working at Starbucks?" (At least, that's what he would be thinking at that point.)

"What can I get started for you, sir?"

Rogue cringed at the name. He had forgotten that a lot of people in the South were very proper and used _sir_ and _ma'am_ regularly. "Can I get a venti iced mocha, please?"

"Absolutely," the barista replied, tapping the screen in front of him. "Is that all?" Rogue nodded in reply. "Your total comes to five dollars and two cents." Then, after scanning Rogue's outstretched phone for payment, he asked, "What's your name?"

"Um, Rogue," he stuttered; he had not been expecting any further questions.

"Here you go," the man said as he handed the customer a receipt and walked towards the machines to prepare the drink.

 _That's strange. When I pay with my phone, I usually don't get a rece—_ Then the boy remembered _why_ he was at Starbucks in the first place. He flipped over the paper, and, sure enough, there was Sting's messy handwriting on the receipt paper.

 **I miss being able to talk like we used to. The nights we stayed up talking were the best nights of my entire life. You are the most important person in my life. I really wish that we could go back to high school, like back to when everything was simple. Back to the start of** **us** **. C.**

 _That. Gods. Damned. Heart. Was. Still. Fucking. There._

Rogue groaned, wondering what the actual fuck Sting meant by that. There was no definite place where they could "talk like they used to."

Then, he almost laughed at the irony. He had _just_ been thinking about all of the late nights they used to stay up talking. _Is Sting inside of my brain?_ he chuckled.

It was in that moment when Rogue realised what Sting had said. "Back to the start of us?" he mumbled under his breath. "What the hell does that mean?"

Before he could think any more on it, the barista called out, "Venti Iced Mocha for Rogue!"

A lightbulb went off in the teen's head as he stepped forward to claim his beverage. "Excuse me, sir? The man who told you to give me this—" Rogue held up the note "—where did he go?"

The man blinked a few times, considering the question. "I'm not sure where he went, but I saw him head towards the end of the terminal," he said, pointing in the direction of gate C55.

"Thanks," Rogue called out, starting back in the direction of his starting point.

The nineteen-year-old sipped his espresso drink, considering when the last time he had had one of these was. It must have been before he and Sting had gone to the camp, so… at least two months?

Rogue's mind wandered again as he started walking towards the end of the terminal, his brain settling on another memory from high school; this one was from when the boys were seventeen in the beginning of twelfth grade.

It was the night after some kind of required standardised testing, so both teenagers were exhausted. They had decided that, even though they had planned earlier that they were going to go to a party that one of their classmates was throwing, they would stay in and just watch a movie or something… like they did every week.

Sting and Rogue were so close that literally nothing was too uncomfortable for them. Even though the black-haired boy wasn't the biggest on physical contact with other humans, he was okay with Sting – and not just because of his sexuality.

So, as they got comfortable to watch the movie that night – it was an action movie to start out – the blond had curled up with Rogue on the couch in the same manner as he always did. Rogue was lounged on the seat, and his friend had found that the best position was with his head on the black-haired boy's chest and his torso pressed closely to Rogue's body. Then, as Rogue draped his muscular arm over Sting's shoulders, the blond snuggled in a little bit closer, humming in satisfaction.

Although there wasn't much that could be considered romantic in their relationship and most people would consider sitting like that to be a loving act, the two boys were content. There was nothing awkward about it, and that was how they preferred it.

By the time the movie was over, Sting was almost completely asleep, lulled into a heavy-eyed state by the feeling of his friend's long fingers subconsciously running through his blond hair. Rogue didn't wake his companion. Most of the time when they spent the night at one another's houses – which was probably four out of seven nights per week – they could make it until three or four in the morning regularly on the weekends and midnight or one on school nights. But this night, both were too tired to even make it past ten o'clock. So they fell asleep like that, with Sting curled up against Rogue's body, Rogue's arm wrapped around Sting protectively. Even though they were in the middle of Rogue's family's living room, nobody questioned it since it was a pretty common sight.

Around two thirty in the morning, the blond nudged his friend awake. "Rogue," he sang, poking the sleeping male's cheek.

He inhaled and slowly forced his crimson eyes to flutter open. What he was met with was a sight that always brought a smile to his lips, no matter how many times he saw it. Sting's deep blue eyes. "Hm?"

"It's two thirty. We should head upstairs."

Rogue rolled his eyes back into his head, really not wanting to move from his comfortable spot. A few moments later, he reluctantly nodded and nudged Sting off of him so that the pair could stand.

Less than a minute later, the friends were lying on Rogue's floor side-by-side.

"Hey, Rogue?"

"Hm?"

Sting was quiet for a long while before saying very quietly, "I'm gay."

The dark-haired teenager blinked a few times, steeling his features so that he didn't show any emotions, and then slowly turned his head towards his friend. Then, after a second and spotting the overwhelming amount of fear in Sting's eyes, he smiled softly and uttered just as quietly, "I know."

The blond blinked several times, eyes narrowing in confusion. "Uh – what?"

Rogue grinned with a kind, knowing look in his eyes. "I've been your best friend since the sixth grade. I've known that you're gay for a few years. I was waiting for you to figure it out." After another moment of quiet, he added, "I'm proud of you, Sting."

That was when Rogue realised that his best friend had tears in his eyes, threatening to run over his nose and onto the floor due to his laying position on the ground. "Thank you…"

"Of course," was Rogue's only reply before allowing the conversation to dissolve back into comfortable silence.

The teenager considered how this whole thing seemed a bit backwards, but not at the same time. Rogue was the more introverted of the two, typically preferring to keep to himself with the exception of Sting, and yet, he had come out years ago. Most people would figure that the blond, who was much more outgoing and – let's face it – "acted" more gay, would come out first, but that's not how it worked out. However, Sting was much more concerned with social reputation, and, now that they were in their last year of high school, they could stop worrying so much about what people thought of them and more of what the _hell_ happened after they graduated.

Either way, Rogue was proud of his best friend. He finally realised his sexuality and had accepted it. As a generalised statement, he figured that meant that, to some extent, Sting was somewhat _okay_ with his life. Meaning that, if Sting was in a really bad place emotionally or mentally, he wouldn't be _able_ to come out, but he did, which meant that he's okay with where he is in life.

It also meant that Rogue might have the slightest chance with Sting. He quickly shut down those thoughts as he closed his eyes.

Rogue had the slightest bit of a smile on his lips when he fell asleep not long after that.

* * *

Not too far ahead, Rogue spotted gate C55, and, sure enough, his best friend was there. "Sting."

"Yo," his friend called out, a lazy smile gracing his features. Sting was lounged in the chairs, taking up the space of two seats due to the fact that his feet and legs were taking up one.

Rogue tried not to smile at the sight of the blond, who looked very proud of himself. "So are you going to tell me what that whole thing was about? Why did you have me go to Concourse A and back to just end up here again?"

"'Cause it was fun, and it was a good way to waste an hour."

The ebony-haired teen suppressed a growl. "We've still got five hours."

"I got bored, and I didn't like being alone in this big airport without you." He shrugged.

 _Without you._

Rogue's cheeks flushed a little bit as he held out a hand to his best friend. "I'm hungry. Let's go get something to eat."

Sting's blue eyes brightened a bit at the mention of food – honestly, Sting was _almost_ as much as a glutton as their classmate, Natsu – and reached for Rogue's outstretched hand. "Where to?"

Rogue pursed his lips, considering the options, and settled on one. "T.G.I. Friday's. Usually they're pretty good, and it's a sit-down."

"Sweet," Sting replied, grinning.

And thus, the pair started heading down the concourse, hand-in-hand. They were nearly back to Five Guy's before Rogue realised he was still conjoined at the hand to his friend and released the hand, which was surprisingly soft. Sting shot the crimson-eyed boy a surprised and slightly offended look when the dark-haired one dropped his hand. Rogue wanted to ponder over what the look his friend had given him meant, but he figured that would drive him insane and would only hurt himself emotionally, so he locked his questions under a lock and key.

Once they reached the sublevel, Rogue walked straight past the Plane Train, feeling no desire to get on the train right now. Usually, he would take the walkways anyways, but earlier he had been in a rush.

They walked forward in comfortable silence.

They reached the walkways towards Concourse B, which was an open hallway with a slightly taller ceiling than the train platform. It was significantly wider, which would make it much less congested on a busy time of day. On each side of the hallway was a moving walkway – the one on the right went forward towards Concourse B, the one on the left went backwards and towards Concourse C. Each walkway section between concourses had a different design – this section focused on the history of Atlanta and Civil Rights movements and other things such as that. On the wall above each walkway was a timeline complete with text explaining each part and photos illustrating the given events. Four minutes later, they reached the sublevel of Concourse B, where they made their way up the escalators, which dropped them right next to their desired destination.

The T.G.I. Friday's in Concourse B was situated directly next to the escalators, on a small part that jutted outward from the main portion of the concourse. On the short section that led to the main part stood several different shops selling items such as headphones and jewellery and stuff no one ever knew they needed for insanely inflated prices.

The hostess led them through the mostly-empty restaurant to a table for two next to the window, facing the planes across the jet-way. "Your server will be here in just a moment." The hostess paused before walking away. "You two are a really cute couple, by the way."

Both boys flushed and started stammering that _no we're absolutely not dating._ Instead of apologising, she just chuckled and headed back to her spot.

For several moments, they said nothing, both trying to distract themselves from the comment by studying the menu.

Sting broke the silence first. "I meant what I said on that note," he said quietly.

"Hm?" Rogue hummed, refusing to look up from his menu.

Before Sting had a chance to go on, the waitress came over, asking for a drink order. Sting ordered a root beer, Rogue a Coke.

When she left, Sting picked up where he had left off. "I miss being able to talk like we used to. Like, I get that we couldn't at camp, but we've been living together for what? A year? And in that year, even though we live together, we've grown farther apart than we were in high school. I miss being totally open, because I haven't told you everything, and I know you haven't told me everything. And I know you miss it too."

"Of course I do," Rogue whispered, barely loud enough for Sting to hear.

"Like earlier, I was just thinking. Like in our junior year, how often did we actually spend at our own house? For the better part of every week, either I was at your house, or you were at mine. And now it's basically like that all the time, but somehow we've grown apart even though we're closer in physical proximity."

"Yeah," Rogue breathed. He didn't want to say anything first – he didn't want to fuck up and slip up yet. He knew exactly what Sting meant. "Was there anything we _didn't_ talk about?"

"Really, just our sex lives after both of us came out. I don't know about you, but I'm still a virgin."

"Same here," he chuckled hoarsely.

Sting sighed, "See? I didn't know for sure whether or not you still were a virgin. That's what I mean."

"Sorry."

Sting straightened and furrowed his brow. "What the fuck are you apologising for? I'm as much at fault as you are, Rogue. Don't apologise to me. Ever." He lowered his voice. "I thought we talked about that a long time ago."

Indeed, they had. It was probably towards the end of tenth grade on a late-night phone call. It was nearly two in the morning, and they had school in just under six hours, but Sting had called Rogue in hysterics, unable to keep his thoughts straight.

His thoughts were too loud.

It took a while for Rogue to convince Sting that _no, he was not going to fail school. No, Rogue did not hate him_ (actually loved him, rather, but Rogue didn't admit that then). _No, Rogue wasn't going to disappear. No, Sting was not a burden. No, he wasn't worthless._

Once Sting had calmed down enough to talk, he apologised over and over and over for waking up Rogue, who had been asleep already. Right then and there, Rogue insisted that they make a pact. Neither of them would ever apologise for something that they needed. Neither would ever apologise for something that wasn't their fault. Neither would ever apologise for _not being okay._

"I remember," Rogue admitted, hanging his head a bit, pulling down his emotional shields for a moment. He was honestly _tired_ of hiding his crush on Sting from him.

He was tired of acting indifferent to how Sting would cuddle with him on the couch at home, how he would sleep on Rogue's shoulder on the plane, how he would say stuff like "a hot guy with black hair in a ponytail wearing a grey hoodie" casually and expect it to not elicit a reaction from Rogue. He didn't want to hide anymore, but he didn't know how to _stop_ hiding unless it slipped out on accident like it had in tenth grade. Hiding shit like that had become second nature to the crimson-eyed boy, so he didn't know _how_ to let it out without stammering and freaking out.

Pretending he was okay had become second nature as well since he had moved in with his friend. He'd already broken that part of their promise. But since Sting was around all the time, he couldn't afford to let it show that he wasn't okay, that the stress of keeping his not-so-platonic thoughts to himself was taking a major toll on his mental health and wellbeing. He didn't want to worry Sting, so he had reverted to who he was before he met Sting subconsciously – someone who hid from everyone and from his own problems.

"Sting," he blurted. _Am I gonna do this? You're not ready for this, you dipshit. Stop it. He doesn't feel the same, so save yourself the embarrassment. Don't do it don't do it don't do it don't do it._ "I like you."

"I… like you… too?" Sting said questioningly.

"No, like not in a platonic way. I really like you and that's what I've been hiding from you and I can't keep it in anymore and I'm sorry, Sting." The words were tumbling out of his mouth, one after the other, all logical train of thought disappearing from his mind. "I'm sorry I kept it from you, but I had told you in tenth grade and you didn't feel the same way and I didn't know what you'd –"

The blond ripped the menu from Rogue's white-knuckle nervous grip and tossed it to the side. Then, he took both of the black-haired male's hands in his own and said, "Yes, I _did_ feel the same."

Silence fell over the pair.

"Uh – what?"

"I _did_ feel the same. I _do_ feel the same. I never said I didn't, I just never said I did. I think about that a lot, actually. How I should have said something but I didn't. I was going to tell you when I came out, too, but I didn't because I was scared. I'm tired of being scared, so here: I love you, and I'm done with pretending that I don't. I mean everything I've said about you. I mean that you're hot, I mean that you're adorable, I mean that you're my entire fucking world, Rogue. I mean every word.

"Please, Rogue, don't apologise anymore. I've hid this from you, just as you did from me. So stop apologising and just accept it, because I know you're wondering how the fuck I could ever love someone fucked up like you. I know you. And I'll tell you how." Sting shifted his hands to cup either side of Rogue's face from across the table, brushing aside his black bangs, making his face completely visible, both eyes and scar and all.

"I love you because you're my best friend, and you know me better than anyone else in the entire fucking world. You know exactly how to help when I need you. You've never once complained that I woke you up in the middle of the night, even now that we're sharing the apartment. You might be fucked up, but if you are, I am too. So I'm finally saying it so that there is no confusion on the matter. I love you, Rogue, and I want to take you on a date, so will you let me? Please?"

The red-eyed boy stared at his friend, dumbstruck. A few tears bubbled in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall yet. Instead, he chuckled. "I could give you a whole long speech like that," he admitted, placing his hands over Sting's on his cheeks, "but I couldn't do it without apologising for never saying anything again, for not being honest that my feelings never went away, for letting us grow apart. So I'm just going to say yes. And thank you. Thank you for everything."

Sting grinned, retracting his hands. "Then come over here and kiss me."

Rogue blushed yet again, but leaned across the table without hesitating, pressing his lips to Sting's lightly. He pulled back quickly, but both of their eyes held a light that held a promise for later. They leaned back into their chairs, reaching for their respective menus without losing eye contact or letting their small smiles falter.

They returned their focus to their menus, mulling over the options for dinner (although it must've been nearly ten forty-five by then). Suddenly, a chorus of _aww_ 's rang in the restaurant.

Both boys whipped their heads towards the sound to find most of the staff and several other customers looking at them with kind smiles on their faces. They all started clapping for the new, red-faced couple.

While Rogue hid his face behind his menu, Sting decided to play it up. "I present to you my new boyfriend, Rogue! Yes, ma'am," he said in the direction of the hostess, "we _are_ a couple."

"Sting," Rogue hissed.

"Fine," Sting said at a slightly lower volume, sinking back into his seat, which he had stood up from when he decided it was appropriate to make an announcement of their new relationship.

The waitress finally returned with their sodas, which she had been holding, waiting for them to get everything out. "Here you go. Are you ready to order?"

"Uhh," Rogue mumbled, looking to Sting. "Do you just wanna split an appetiser and head to our gate?" He quirked an eyebrow suggestively, implying that they were most definitely _not_ going straight to the gate.

"Sure. Let's split an order of boneless wings, please." Sting winked back to his boyfriend as she wrote down the order and walked back towards the kitchen.

* * *

Nearly forty-five minutes later, Rogue had Sting pressed against the wall of a bathroom, kissing him ferociously, as if they might never get the chance again.

When they had strode in just a few minutes before, Sting had snapped at the man cleaning it to _get the fuck out_ and to close the bathroom for a little while. The cleaning man looked between the two for a moment before walking out quickly.

He hadn't even left the bathroom before Rogue pounced on his mate, slamming him against the nearest wall. The dark-haired boy captured Sting's lips, burying one hand in Sting's surprisingly soft hair and the other looping around his waist.

They were a mess of lips and hands and heat and tongues and discarded clothing and comingling breath. Sting nibbled lightly on Rogue's lower lip as Rogue's hands roamed over his boyfriend's torso, tugging at the hem of his white t-shirt.

When both boys were free of their shirts and Sting's belt was unbuckled, Rogue pulled back suddenly. "Not yet. I don't want to go too fast," he panted.

Equally out of breath, Sting replied, "Of course."

Before turning to pick up their discarded shirts and Rogue's hoodie, the red-eyed male swooped back in to initiate a slower, more delicate kiss. "I love you," he murmured against the blond's lips.

"I love you, too," Sting replied as Rogue tossed him a shirt. "Hey, uh, this is your shirt."

"Problem?" Rogue asked, smirking as he pulled on Sting's shirt.

"Nah." Sting shrugged and put on the shirt and grabbed his backpack as he started walking out of the bathroom. His partner gripped his wrist before he could reach the view of the main concourse. "Huh?"

"Hair."

He blinked, but when he looked at his reflection, he realised what Rogue had meant. His hair was more dishevelled than usual, sticking in every direction and with a vaguely Rogue's hand-sized dent in the spikes on the back. "Thanks," he mumbled as the crimson-eyed boy ran his fingers through his own hair, trying to make it look slightly less unruly.

Hand-in-hand, they strolled out of the bathroom and towards the gate where the plane to Baltimore should be leaving from: C15.

They arrived at the gate a few minutes later to receive some pleasant news: the plane should be leaving at 1:15AM now, which would be in just over an hour and a half.

"Yes," Rogue sighed as he sank into a seat.

The blond boy dropped his backpack to the floor and fell into the next seat, resting his head on the black-haired boy's shoulder. As his boyfriend wrapped his arm around his shoulders and leaned his own head on top of Sting's, Sting hummed in approval. "Sleepy," he murmured.

Rogue mumbled something along the lines of "okay, let's sleep, then."

Too soon, an announcement from the gate attendant announced that boarding would begin shortly. Not long after that, pre-boarding groups, and group A and B were called to board. Finally, group C was called, so the couple boarded the mostly-full plane.

Once they took their seat – Rogue took the window seat this time – they returned to the position they were in before they left the gate. Sting passed out again nearly immediately, but the black-haired teen waited for the pilot to announce that they were cleared for departure before falling back to sleep.

After what was supposed to be a six-hour delay ended up being a four-hour delay, the new couple headed home for the first time in nearly two months. And they were happier than they had been in forever.

* * *

 _ **A/N: So I had said I was going to publish this like two fucking months ago. And I just finally finished it. Fuck. It took me too damned long to write this, but it was fucking long for a one-shot. Like 9,000 words or so? I'm fucking proud of myself for that.**_

 _ **As far as the layout of the airport in this goes: yes, this IS how Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport is set up. I had maps of each concourse open in my browser the entire time I was writing this. Yes, there is a Starbucks in Concourse C (2, actually). Yes, there is a TGI Friday's in Concourse B.**_

 _ **When I got the idea for this story, I had been flying home from my grandmother's house, and I had a connection through Atlanta. I travel a lot, and I've spent a fuckload of time in the Atlanta airport.**_

 _ **Originally, this was giong to be a like 5,000 word story focused on everywhere that Sting sends Rogue and then where Rogue sends Sting, but I really wanted to establish a relationship with them, and I had a hard time doing that with just the game. And guess what! I managed to get some minor angst in there, too! So TADA I did it! I made an originally cute and fluffy story meaningful and with actual real shit like anxiety and coming out and flashbacks and HA I DID IT.**_

 _ **So, tell me what you think. I really enjoyed writing this. I'm PLANNING on writing a quick OS (like 1,000 words hopefully) soon, but I'm shit with following plans, so soz.**_

 _ **-Stephanie**_


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